I Don't Wanna Die
by genericdairy
Summary: America has been given 12 hours to make a decision. Between him and England, America has to make the choice on which one has to die. Be selfish and save his people, or be generous and let his country fall.


**cheese - **As odd as this seems, yes I had to write this. No, I could not help myself, but I wanted to see what could I do with this. I have a minor fascination with "I Don't Wanna Die," a song by Hollywood Undead. While the title comes from it, not too much of this story pertains to the actual song. Nonetheless, it's a long story that I couldn't help BUT to write.

**Disclaimer:** Just so you all know, I do not own Hetalia, so don't get any ideas.

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><p>It was either him or someone else. He could either be uncharacteristically selfish or unusually generous. Whichever choice he chose, however, meant that tragedy was going to strike the entire world. There was going to be one less country in the world, and America had to make the choice of which nation had to fall.<p>

America was either going to have to kill England, or he was going to die.

The young nation was just informed of the ultimatum not too long before the world meeting. He had a period of only 12 hours to make his decision. If he failed or refused to kill England, then America would be killed by his own people. They would either annihilate his capital, thus destroying him in the process, or he could easily take his pistol and send a bullet right into the Briton's head.

"Decisions, decisions…"

America was slowly dragging his feet along the sidewalk, unable to find any rocks to kick. Sure, he and England were close and had their differences occasionally, but did he have to kill the poor man? Why couldn't he assassinate some other guy, like Russia? Boy, did he wish he was close friends with that Russian. He wouldn't have had to make such a touch decision had the pipe wielder and he had been real close.

Then again, America and England hadn't been on good terms as of late.

Actually, things were not going well at all. They were constantly at each other's throats, and rumors started, stating that there was an impending war between the two.

"America, you shouldn't drag your shoes when walking. It'll wear them out quicker."

America stopped and looked back in the direction of the voice. He put on a tiny smile, "Sorry about that, Mattie, sorta forgot that you were there." Canada sighed and shook his head. He knew of America's impending doom and while he wasn't fond of what was going to happen in the end, he was going to have to accept it.

After all, it was America's decision, not his.

Once they made it to the location, Canada noticed something about his brother's demeanor. The little features, such as a colder voice, may be overlooked as America having a really bad day. The dark expression on his face and bitterness towards others, however, could not. The darker America was terrifying to Canada, and just seeing the way America glared at England made things worse.

America's decision was made, and Canada knew that if America succeeded that there would be a World War III.

To Canada, America's decision didn't matter because either way, he was still going to die, even if it was later down the line.

Canada sat right next to England. From that seat, he was sitting directly across from France and America. He could easily tell that France had noticed the darker aura, and honestly the poor nation wanted to find another seat and sit elsewhere.

"This is an unusual seat for you, Canada," England said as he looked up from his papers. "Is something wrong?"

The Canadian wanted to laugh the question off and hide, but the fact that England both noticed and called him the correct name spooked Canada. A nervous laugh came from the Canadian's mouth as he shook his head. "I just…wanted a different seat for once!"

He could tell England was suspicious, but the man seemed content with the answer. England turned straight ahead and practically had to cover his mouth to keep himself from screaming. Sure, Russia was terrifying to see in a dark mood, but America—he was just beyond Russia.

Germany opened his mouth to speak as the last of the nations settled down. "Today, we're going to discuss a more civil issue among our nation body. We can't exactly make the world better if two of our own fellow nations are trying to bite each others' heads off."

England quickly piped up, "I'm all for being nice to America if he stops looking like that! He's worse than Russia!"

"Now what exactly is that supposed to mean?" the Russian asked. "I'm not even bad, if that's what you're implying."

Canada felt tension build up in the meeting room quickly. They haven't even been in the room for a good ten minutes and this was already happening. America crossed his arms and grinned. It was that of the completely devious nature, which made things all the more worse. The American closed his eyes. "England, you seem terrified. How about I explain all of this to you after the meeting?"

Silence. Tension. Impending doom. All of those things were heavily lingering in the atmosphere. England slowly nodded, because he knew if he spoke the nations would hear the tremble in his voice. From that point on, the meeting slowly dragged by with very few interruptions. Tension still hung in the air and from what America saw, mass amounts of eyes were staring at him.

America wanted to laugh at them all.

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><p>England casually leaned against the wall after the meeting. During the meeting, America had passed the Englishman a note containing further information of what was to come. England had figured that America was probably going to be late as usual and was prepared to give the American a lecture about tardiness, but then a memory made itself known.<p>

The dark expression on America's face.

England was in no position to try to lecture America if he was late. They were already on the verge of war, and there was no telling what would easily piss off the American. The blond looked at his watch. Even though he had gotten there two minutes early, he _still_ felt as though America had been ten minutes late.

"Guess it's just because I'm so used to this kind of thing…"

"Ah, England, you're here early, as usual," America said as he walked up to England.

"As are you, which is quite unusual for you," England responded. He looked up at America. The younger nation's expression still appeared dark; nothing about it had changed. His normally vibrant, blue eyes were shadowy and cold; his mouth, usually always curved into too big of a smile, was more of a demented smirk, almost as if he had something evil planned.

England felt something was wrong.

America sighed and shook his head. "What I'm about to tell you will change both of our lives for the next twelve hours." The American looked at his watch. "I was only told the time would start after I explained this to you and that I only had six hours to at least find you so I could explain this to you."

England raised an eyebrow.

The younger blond grinned and pointed to his collar. "This is a camera. Less than four hours ago I was captured by people—"

"What kind of people?"

"I'm not at the liberty to discuss that, England."

England looked down. America's voice was so cold. It was almost as if the voice was trying to command England to just walk in a corner and die. The older man shook off the chill and looked back at America. "Please, America, I'm sorry. Continue."

"These people have given me an ultimatum as a consequence to my actions. After I finish explaining this to you, I'm going to be generous. I'm going to allow you to have a ten second head start."

"America, what exactly are you talking about?"

Ignoring the question, America continued, "These people have given me an entire day to make a decision. England, one of us has to die. If I want my own people to turn against me, then I would either have to kill myself, or let someone else kill me. If I want to remain the world's largest superpower and make this entire place better, I have to kill you."

America pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Personally, England, I would have loved to have killed someone else, but I didn't get to pick who gets to die. These people chose who I was closest to, and it just so happens that it was you, even if we are on the verge of war. Really, I _want_ someone else other than you to die, believe you me. However…" The American pulled his pistol out of his jacket.

"I don't wanna die—so you're gonna have to."

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><p>England's eyes widened and before he knew it, he was already running. He cursed at himself for having run in the opposite direction of the exit, but he wanted, better yet, <em>needed<em>, to get away from America. He wasn't sure where America was, but he knew that if the American found him, he was going to have to defend himself. He _refused_ to die without a fight.

America watched England sprint away. The American chuckled to himself when he saw England didn't run towards the exit. "Oh, England, I thought you were better than that." America looked at his watch. "One, two, three…four, five, six…seven…eight…nine…

…ten."

America cocked his pistol. He slowly began walking in the direction England bolted in. He didn't care if another nation saw him holding that gun; he had a job to do, and it was to save _his_ people. As selfish as it was, America couldn't help it. He felt like he was the better nation, and he was the one that still needed to stick around to help others, not England. England _was_ a strong nation at once, now it was America's time.

"_London__ Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady!~_"

America passed by Italy while singing the simple rhyme, and somehow it was enough to make Italy scream for Germany and run back into the meeting room.

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><p>England, having been completely unprepared for this, had to beg a nation for a spare gun. France, as surprising as it was, had been able to give the Englishman a pistol. Though, thanks to England's stupid first move, he ended up on the top floor of the building instead of the bottom floor and outside. The nation stopped along a corner and attempted to catch his breath.<p>

Then, he had happened to have overheard a conversation between Germany and Lithuania.

"So I've just gotten off the phone with Italy, and it appears that America is walking around the premises carrying a loaded pistol," Germany said with an expression of deep concern. "Not to mention, Italy also said how America was singing a nursery rhyme, something to do with London Bridge…"

Lithuania raised a brow. "Perhaps this had something to do with what happened at the meeting? After all, America did say he had something to discuss with England after the meeting."

The two turned around when they heard panting. Germany ran up to England. "You! Care to explain what's going on and why America's walking around with a _loaded _gun?"

"America's trying to kill me with that bloody thing! I have to put up with running and trying to defend myself for a whole day here! I don't know what that twat had gotten himself into, but the last few things he told me was that one of us had to die! It just so happens that I was the unfortunate soul." England looked around, making sure America was nowhere to be seen. "You two know this place better than I do. Do you know where I can hide?"

Lithuania thought about it for a moment. "Well, there are a couple of rooms you could hide in, but those rooms are either shut tight or have floors in need of renovation."

"So you're saying this building isn't finished?" England asked.

Lithuania nodded. "I questioned why were going to have the meeting here in the first place because of that, but I didn't get an answer. Either way, it's still nice, but it's just these top floors here that aren't really finished."

"Then why are you two here?" England asked with a deep frown.

Germany spoke, "It's quite simple, actually. Lithuania pressed the wrong button."

"But why didn't you go back down?" asked the Englishman, his patience becoming thin.

"Well, I figured, since I pushed the wrong button, we might as well investigate before heading back down to the first floor," Lithuania said with a nervous laugh. "I know it makes no sense, but I was just curious. Also, Germany, have you seen the staircase?"

"It's down the hallway and to the right of the elevator, why do you ask?" Germany raised his brow in question.

Lithuania looked around. "It's almost as though I get that feeling that something bad is about to happen…"

_DING!_

"Oh England~ I heard that you were on this floor and decided to try it out." America slowly walked down the hall. He could hear a conversation among two people, one stating how he felt like something was about to happen. America, deciding to play with his prey, started stomping. They obviously heard him because America could hear at least three sets of feet moving.

They were heading for the stairs.

America quickly made it around the corner and fired his pistol. While he wasn't sure who he hit, he did shoot someone in the leg. He heard a cry and someone hitting the floor. America quickly ran up the hallway and made a left turn. "Oh, Lithuania…you probably shouldn't have been the one running in the back. Germany, it's nice to see you too."

Germany stopped America. "What's with your insane mission of trying to kill England?"

"What's with your insane idea of trying to stop me? If you don't move, don't think I won't shoot you. You're hindering me from completing _my_ job, and to be honest, I don't have time for this."

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><p>England wasn't sure how many flights of stairs he ran down. He just knew he was really tired and had to stop. He grabbed onto the railing and then looked straight ahead.<p>

There was a pole.

England, once again, felt like he made another stupid mistake. He could have easily slid down the pole and reached the bottom floor easily. Edging up on the railing, England jumped for the pole and latched onto it. He looked back up the stairs. He felt bad for having to leave the two up there, but Germany had practically pushed England down the stairs.

He felt even worse when he heard a second gunshot.

Swallowing his guilt, he slid down the pole. Unfortunately, it only took him down an extra five flights of stairs. England looked around the room and spotted a number. Ten.

Ten was the floor England was on, and ten was also the number of hours America had left. The Englishman opened the door and practically ran into Canada. Next thing England knew, he found himself on the floor and was looking at a hand.

"Hurry up, England; I have to help you out here. As much as I don't want to side against my brother, I think it's for the best." Canada helped England up. "First off, I know exactly what's going on. Secondly, I know you have a long time to try to hide from America."

"Why are you helping me out?"

Canada sighed. "If I help you out, this world would only lose one nation. If I help out America, he'll kill you, and half of the world would declare war on him. Think about how it would end. It's America against the world; he won't survive that war. Now, come on, we have to move to the basement. It's already hard to get in there and I'm sure America's going to have a hard time finding you so it should stall more time."

The two nations were about to move until they bumped into France and Spain.

England yelled, "Move, you twats! I'm trying to avoid seeing America and a bullet in my bloody forehead! I have to get to the basement!" He shoved his way past the two and broke out into a fast sprint, almost leaving Canada behind. He could hear Canada shouting wait, but he wasn't about to risk waiting around.

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><p>This would be something nations would forever taunt England about, provided he lived through it. He had been hiding in the basement for a while now. Was it an hour? Four? Six? Eight? It couldn't possibly be ten because he still heard the occasional gunshot from America's pistol, which meant America had been hanging around on the first floor for quite a while. England didn't know who America had shot or killed, but he really hoped nobody had died.<p>

"England? Are you there?"

England peered from where he was hiding. He could clearly see Canada searching for him, but he was too afraid to let Canada know where he was hiding. Canada had continued on elsewhere, and it wasn't long before he had heard a loud crash.

America was here, and he was pissed.

"Alright, England, enough fucking around. I'm running short on time. I don't know how you've been able to be such a little sneaky bugger around here, but this is where it ends." America looked around. "Fine then, if you wanna play hardball, then let's play. I know you're here." The American kicked a few items over, and with each item he broke, he neared England's location.

England watched America, and as soon as the younger blond has his back turned, England pulled out his pistol and shot America. He wasn't sure where, but he knew that America was hit. England leapt from his hiding spot and ran for another hiding spot. He heard three gunshots; one whizzed past his head, the other one lodged itself into his arm, and the final one caught him in the leg.

He screamed in pain and fell to the floor.

England could feel his body slowly numb. He couldn't move his leg, and he could barely move his arm to drag himself around the corner before he felt another bullet pierce his other leg. He stifled a cry and laid there. He knew it. He just knew it. As soon as America walked around this corner, he was going to die. America aiming a gun at him would be the last thing he would see.

England barely managed to push himself up in a sitting position as he saw America move around the corner. America smiled. "Say, England, you know something? Since this will be out final moments together, why don't you share your final words with me?"

America's smile turned even more crooked.

England scoffed. "What makes you think that you're going to kill me? I still have a gun."

The younger nation nodded. "True, but you have no bullets in it. I'm quite aware of how many bullets France had in his gun…or should I say bullet?"

England's eyes widen as he checked the gun. America was right, there was only one bullet in it, and from what England saw was that bullet had made its way into America's chest. The only thing that spooked England was that the bullet wound didn't seem to bother America at all. It was like he was immune to the pain.

America pointed the gun at England. "Any last words, England?"

Swallowing the lump in his throat, England snarled, "You're a bloody monster."

The American broke into a menacing laughter before regaining his composure. "Why, thank you. Now, it's lights out for you." America pointed his gun at England.

England squeezed his eyes shut and he heard gunshots. Three, to be exact. England waited, then slowly opened his eyes as he realized it wasn't him who was shot. It was America. The young blond stood there, noticing blood running from his torso. He traced the locations of where all the bullets went. Two went through his abdomen, and one lodged itself in his heart. Tears stung at his eyes as he saw his shooter. He couldn't believe it, and he didn't understand why it was someone close, out of all the people he knew.

"Canada…"

America felt tears fall from his eyes as he collapsed on the floor. He looked over at England. America sighed. He was so close to saving his own people, only to have it taken from him in the end by his own brother. The nation grinned to himself. "England…you're pathetic…"

Canada and England didn't bother moving for at least a solid ten minutes, even though they knew America was dead. The puddle of blood under him was enough to describe it. Canada moved over to England and analyzed him. The Canadian smiled. "Don't worry, England, I'll get you out of here. The other nations are safe, and so are you, now."

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><p>England felt the warm sun on his face as he laid in the hospital bed. He was fortunate to have escaped the building with his life, but he couldn't help but count all the stupid mistakes he had done, particularly the last one. He had hid in the basement, then <em>stayed<em> there. It couldn't have been out of fear, could it? It just wouldn't leave his head.

"And here I was always calling America the git…what was I thinking?"

Canada looked at England as he quietly held onto his bear. The Canadian readjusted his glasses and sighed. "Don't blame yourself. You were in the heat of the moment and you couldn't think straight. That's understandable…"

Silence lingered in the air for several moments.

"Why does France carry around a gun with only _one_ bullet?" England asked, breaking the silence.

Canada chuckled and shook his head. "You're well aware of him claiming to be a lover, not a fighter right?" Canada heard England chuckle as he looked out the window. Canada stared for a moment and noticed people. He noticed those same people that had took America and forced him into an unwilling death. Before Canada could say something, England spoke again.

"How's Germany?"

"Better, I suppose, considering how he took a bullet to his chest," Canada said without looking from the window.

He could see the people. _Those _people. They didn't seem to be moving around, rather, they were looking in different directions. Canada felt himself stiffen as one of them noticed him. The rest of the group then looked up at him. Canada could easily point out which one was the leader, and it was the leader that gave Canada a demented smile. It was the leader that waved to Canada.

It was the leader that pointed to Canada and mouthed the words "You're next."

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><p><strong>AN: **While I didn't mention this in the story, no other nation actually died, so therefore you can stop holding your breath. All I can say is that I pity what I did to America. Therefore, yes, I am quite the terrible person.

However, I do hope you liked it! Reviews would be nice, so do feel free to share your thoughts!


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